


let's call this a running away story

by behradtarazi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behradtarazi/pseuds/behradtarazi
Summary: The summer after his father dies, straight A student Obi Wan Kenobi empties out his bank account and runs away from home.Bail goes with him. Of course he does. He loves him. Of course he does.And maybe he’s a little bit worried about what would happen if Obi Wan was alone.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Kudos: 32





	let's call this a running away story

"That," Obi Wan says slowly, "is not the car I'd thought you be bringing."

Bail smiles at him from behind the wheel of a bright blue convertible, innocent and charming like he hadn't stolen his dad's car keys only a few minutes ago. "If I'm running away with you, I'm running away in style. You can't take that from me, I'm afraid."

“You’re insufferable,” Obi Wan replies, even as he puts his bag in the trunk and sits shotgun, closing the car door hard behind him, the hint of finality not going unnoticed.

“And yet you love me anyways.” 

Obi Wan hums, mouth pressed into the thin line that always means he’s holding back a grin. Bail knows him far too well, can see the way his lips curve up on the edges, and that’s enough to make him smile to himself as he pulls out of the driveway and speeds off into the night.

They’re silent, the only noise the low melody of Bail’s favorite R&B radio station, and it’s comfortable. It’s comfortable, like a warm memory, and that’s more than Bail expected already. He knows why Obi Wan’s running, even if Obi Wan himself won’t admit it’s why he’s running. Obi Wan hasn’t relaxed for a moment in months, not since Qui Gon died. For a little while there, Bail wasn’t sure he would ever see his boyfriend genuinely smile again. So no, he wasn’t expecting comfort, not from this suddenly realized escapist fantasy.

But he’s more than happy to be surprised.

He’s not quite sure where they’re going. Obi Wan had handed him a map with a red road leading to absolutely nowhere, and maybe that’s the point of it. Maybe that’s the point of it. It’s not about the destination, it’s about what they’re leaving behind, and how quickly they can leave it. Bail shouldn’t be as okay with that as he is. He knows he wouldn’t be if it had been anyone else asking, even Breha.

It wasn’t anyone else, though. It was Obi Wan. In his fondest moments, there’s nothing Bail wouldn’t do for him. In his worst, there still isn’t.

The dashboard clock says it’s two in the morning when Bail finally pulls into the parking lot of a shitty roadside motel, and his phone’s clock says no, it’s actually five past two, and either way his eyes are starting to fall shut and his legs feel numb like they did the time he chugged three cans of Red Bull one after another on the night before he took the SATs. (It was a truly horrible idea, but, to be fair, Obi Wan had just downed five, and Luminara was eyeing up one herself, and Bail wasn’t about to be left out, now was he? At least he hadn’t gone for his mother’s liquor cabinet.) He glances over to tell Obi Wan he’ll carry their bags, only for the words to die in his mouth, because Obi Wan is fast asleep, head against the window, face bathed in the neon lights of the motel’s many signs, and he looks...peaceful. Content. He doesn’t want to take that from him, not after everything, but he wants to sleep in the car even less, so Bail gently reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Wake up, love,” he says softly. “We have to get a room for the night.”

Obi Wan slowly blinks awake, blue eyes hazy and confused for half a moment before he remembers, giving Bail just a ghost of a smile and getting out of the car. “I’ll get the bags,” he says, and Bail doesn’t get the chance to protest. He’s too tired to even make a vague attempt at it.

The clerk at the front desk boredly snaps her gum as they check in, eyeshadow artfully smudged and gaze completely disinterested, and moments later they’re in their room, and Bail is wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of cigarettes and collapsing into bed anyways, and Obi Wan - Obi Wan barely pauses before he climbs into Bail’s arms, resting his head on his chest. He doesn’t say a word, but Bail can feel his faint hesitation, that characteristic worry, that silent  _ is this okay are you sure this is okay?  _ Bail just kisses him on the forehead, and tightens his hold on him.

He could get used to this. He’d love to get used to this.

They drift off like that, curled up together, still buzzing with adrenaline, and Bail’s never slept better in his life.

It’s too good to last.

He should have seen that coming, really.

It’s too good to last, and Bail wakes up late the next morning with a crick in his neck and the smoke clinging to him and Obi Wan gone and twenty unread texts and seven missed calls and the distinct feeling that nothing is going to be the same ever again. In typical Organa and Kenobi fashion, things can really only get worse from here.

Three of the texts are from Breha and one from Padmé, both of whom Bail had told the plan beforehand. Eight are from Luminara, who Obi Wan clearly hadn’t. Four are from Anakin, Obi Wan’s little brother, who didn’t seem to have been given any heads up either, and something about that doesn’t sit quite right in Bail’s chest. Another four are from his mother. All of the calls are from his father, the voicemails varying degrees of worried, confused, furious, and resigned.

He doesn’t want to know what Obi Wan’s phone looks like.

With an exhausted sigh, he gets up and changes, clothes still perfectly pressed like they always are, and it’s while he’s running a comb through his hair that Obi Wan walks back in, two cups of coffee in his hands and an absolutely done look on his face.

“They don’t have any tea and the coffee is terrible.” Obi Wan sounds genuinely pained, and Bail can’t stop himself from chuckling as he takes one of the cups, sipping from it and barely wincing at the taste.

“You’re too fancy for your own good. I don’t think you’re going to be finding any French press out here, babe.”

“Biting words from the man with the blue convertible,” Obi Wan says dryly. “Do I even want to know how much that thing cost?”

Bail laughs. “Trust me, you really don’t.”

He gets the beginnings of a smile for that - a smile that fades immediately when Obi Wan sees Bail’s phone on the bed and the messages from Anakin, and Bail’s amusement disappears as well as he follows his gaze.

“You didn’t tell him,” Bail says, and it’s not a question or an accusation, but his tone isn’t exactly approving, either.

“He’ll be fine,” Obi Wan replies, carefully collected. “He doesn’t need me. And he has Mr. Windu looking out for him already. I think he’s going to adopt him.”

“You told me Qui Gon asked you to stick with him. That he said you’d be good for each other.”

He has more to say, but he cuts himself off when he sees the look Obi Wan gives him, closed off and a little bit empty. It’s the way he always gets when someone mentions Qui Gon, like he’s trying not to feel anything and slightly resents you for making him. 

They stand like that for a moment, just watching each other. Just watching each other, when there are a thousand things they probably should be saying. Just watching each other.

Obi Wan turns away first, draining his coffee and throwing away the cup. “Let’s grab breakfast on the road.”

Bail, with all the caution of a man handling a hair-trigger bomb, doesn’t do anything but follow him.

They take back roads instead of the highway, and now even the views and the music aren’t enough to distract from the low undercurrent of tension, of wrongness. Driving through a field of flowers, Obi Wan leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Bail’s neck, and even as he smiles he feels hollow, like the ground is about to give out underneath them. Like this road trip to nowhere is about to lead them off a cliff. 

That night in their room, they play Frankie Valli and Bail holds Obi Wan close as they sway back and forth, gentle smiles on their faces that don’t quite banish the chill from their bones. The music keeps playing, but they stop moving, and just hold onto each other wordlessly, hands tight and slightly desperate, drowning men clinging to a raft.

It’s like that for the next three days.

On day six of their adventure, Bail watches something in Obi Wan break.

He’s sitting on the bed with his phone when he hears what sounds like sobbing from the bathroom, distant and muffled. He stands after only a moment of hesitation, walking over and knocking on the door. “Obi Wan?” he asks softly. “Are you okay in there?”

It’s quiet for a painful moment, and then Obi Wan opens the door, his hands shaking, tears streaming down his face, and - oh. Oh. His hair has been getting long, and now it’s pulled back, and he looks just like Qui Gon. He looks just like Qui Gon. 

He practically collapses into Bail’s arms, and Bail pulls him close, holding him up, steady and sure, heart shattering while Obi Wan cries into his shoulder. “I’ve got you,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know what could even begin to make this better. “Let it out. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Obi Wan’s words are quiet, slightly distorted by the way he’s shaking, his whole body wracked with grief, but there’s no hesitation there, like a dam breaking with nothing held back as he says over and over again, “I miss him. I miss him so much. He’s not - I can’t - I just keep  _ seeing  _ him  _ everywhere.  _ I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do anything to save him.”

Later, with hands steadier than he feels, Bail carefully cuts Obi Wan’s hair in front of the bathroom mirror, shorter and shorter until Obi Wan can finally look himself in the eyes again. 

“Thank you,” Obi Wan says as he turns to face him, voice barely more than a whisper.

Bail leans down, cupping his face and kissing him softly. 

“Let’s go home.” 


End file.
